


twenty dollar booty

by b_o_i



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, after shiro left but before keith got booted, me throwing bad porn tropes at keith: i love you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 03:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_o_i/pseuds/b_o_i
Summary: Keith gets increasingly uncomfortable as the seconds drag, and he almost asks if the guy is even still there, before he flinches. He blinks, because. There are hands on his ass.(keith is stuck.)





	twenty dollar booty

**Author's Note:**

> listen. listen. this is one of my most secret and most shameful kinks but it's been a rough few weeks and i've reached the stage of apathy where i fear nothing anymore. not even god can kinkshame me. 
> 
> as usual, do read the tags

 

Keith is fucked.

He has a test tomorrow —or technically today, because it’s two in the morning—and he snuck out past curfew so he could spend extra time in the library and shit because this is an important test and he’d lost track of time talking to Shiro through the interplanetary version of Skype earlier and didn't have time to look through what he wanted. And because he’s stupid, he left his key card in his room and his roommate is gone for the week and he’s slipped in through the vents before, like, a million times because they’re easy to access and he’s small. And, because, he’s the luckiest person alive, this time, somehow, he got stuck.

So here is, stuck on his knees, halfway through a vent door in the wall at two am, like an idiot. His hips ache from trying to get out, and he isn’t quite ready to give up his dignity and call for help. God, but Shiro would laugh until he _cried_ if he could see him right now.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps. Keith holds his breath, like it could somehow keep him from being seen, but when no whistles are blown or angry yelling starts, he assumes it’s not a professor. It’s definitely not Iverson, thank fuck.

Deciding he’d rather take the laughing of a student than the anger of whatever teacher will inevitably find him, he waits until the footsteps get closer.

“Hey,” he whisper-yells, triumphant when the footsteps come to a stop, “Hey, could you like, help me?”

He hears fabric rustle as whoever it is kneels down.

“Are you… stuck?” he hears the person—a man, it sounds like—ask quietly. His voice is unfamiliar. Keith is immediately on edge.

“Uh, yeah,” Keith answers, “I was just—trying to get into my room, and. I’m stuck, yeah.” he pauses, shifting around a bit when he doesn’t get an answer; he can practically feel the man’s eyes on him--on his ass, more like. He flushes in embarrassment. “So if you could like, help me out here?”

Again, he doesn’t get an answer, but he hasn’t heard the man leave, either. Keith gets increasingly uncomfortable as the seconds drag, and he almost asks if the guy is even still there, before he flinches. He blinks, because. There are hands on his ass. They’re big hands, not as big as Shiro’s but definitely bigger than Keith’s, and they’re warm. He can feel the heat through two layers of fabric. For a moment, he’s too shocked to know how to react. Then, the hands start moving. Hesitant at first, tracing the curve of his ass and the bone of his hips like they’re not sure what to do with themselves, but quickly gaining confidence. 

“What the hell,” he finally spits, jerking as far away as he can, which isn’t very far, “Get the hell off me, what the fuck are you doing?”  
  
The hands grip his hips and hold him still—all fucking bold suddenly—so Keith kicks out instead. He makes contact with something warm and solid—a chest, maybe—and the man grunts out an annoyed noise. His shoes scuff against the floor. The sounds carries down the hallway, too loud in the dark, and Keith freezes. The man behind him takes the opportunity to hold his legs down against the ground, tuck them uncomfortably under the man’s knees. Fuck.  
  
He considers yelling, making some kind of ruckus to get people out of their rooms, but. He thinks about anyone rushing out and seeing him like this, stuck in the vent to his own fucking room with a stranger’s hands—oh god, they’re unzipping his pants now, slow and deliberate—on his ass, down the front of his pants, shit shit shit. People dislike him enough already. He doesn’t need anyone to start looking down on him, too. Shiro’s protege, breaking all the records but still dumb enough to get himself caught in some stupid bad porno. God.  
  
“Get off,” he tries again, letting his whisper skirt the edges of a growl.  
  
The man responds by shoving Keith’s pants and boxers down until they’re bunched around his thighs. Keith gasps as the cool air hits his bare skin. Oh god, he thinks, nearing hysterical. What the fuck.  
  
“Stop,” he says, feeling warm fingers drifting further and further to places they shouldn’t; he can’t bring himself to care about how desperate he sounds, because he’s scared. He’s terrified. This isn’t supposed to happen, not in real life and not to him. “Please, don’t.”  
  
For a moment, the hands are gone. Keith almost dares to be relieved, but then they’re back. The man’s first two fingers are wet. Keith’s heart just fucking drops.  
  
“Oh my god,” he whispers, twitching at the feel of a wet finger circling his hole. “What the fuck.”  
  
It’s almost surreal, the whole fucking thing, right up until the man pushes his finger in. Keith gasps at the intrusion, clenching down around the foreign feeling. The fucker’s nail is long and dull, and he feels it scraping against his insides. He thinks he might throw up.  
  
“Stop,” he tries to say again, gathering his breath as the finger pulls out, but the air in his lungs is pushed right back out of him when a second wet finger is jammed in alongside the other one. It hurts. It’s too much too fast, but the fucker is trying to go fast. Another moment he stays here is another moment he could get caught.  
  
Keith tries to jerk away from the hurt, but he’s pressed up against the wall, his legs still held in place. There’s nowhere for him to go.  
  
A third finger joins the other two, thick and warm and tacky with drying spit. Keith tries to relax around them like Shiro used to tell him to, whisper into the curve of his neck, three fingers crooked deep inside him, but it isn’t working. He’s too afraid, too uncomfortable. The fingers pull out too quickly, and he buries a hurt sound in the palm of his hand.  
  
There are a few blessed moments of silence. Keith feels something warm and hard against the curve of his ass. His breath catches in his throat.  
  
“Wait,” he says, gasping as he feels it slowly push in in in, “Wait please, please don’t, please, I—“ he cuts himself off with a sob as the fucker bottoms out, his hips flush against Keith’s ass.  
  
It’s too much. He’s too full, he’s gonna die, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, he was—he was saving this. He was saving this for Shiro, for when he got back from Kerberos. They’d talked about it, Shiro’s mouth hot against the shell of his ear because he was a fucking saint both in bed and out but he could say the filthiest shit in the world and make it sound hot as hell. They wanted their first time going all the way to be special, not rushed or sad because Shiro was leaving. It was supposed to be _Shiro_ filling him up and making him feel good and warm and safe and not anything like this.

The stranger behind him pulls out slow slow slow and thrusts back in, moans low in his throat and has Keith wanting to die. He wonders if he even knows who Keith is, or if he’s just doing this because he saw the opportunity. If he even cares that he’s taking away something Keith can never get back.  
  
“Tight,” the stranger breathes, the most he’s said since this started, and Keith sobs into the crook of his elbow.  
  
The man moves, thrusts in carefully at first, like he’s testing it out. Like he’s trying to be quiet. Keith hips jerk against the metal frame with each movement, but the fucker solves that by jerking his hip up and pulling him back into each thrust instead. Once he’s solved the sound problem, he seems to decide he doesn’t give a fuck about anything else, and fucks in hard and fast. With his hips tilted up, he gets in deeper.

Keith feels like he’s being torn apart. The asshole’s dick isn’t even that _big_ , but it’s the first dick he’s ever had all the way up his ass and it _hurts_. He must make some kind of noise, because the asshole pats his hip in apology, or maybe just to get him to shut up.

“Fuck you,” he gasps. He doesn’t know if the man even hears him with all the fucking panting he’s doing. Fucker’s really getting into it—enough that he seems to realize he isn’t the only person involved here, and reaches around to grab at Keith’s dick, which he’d been avoiding until now. Keith gasps at the sudden warmth, trying to shake the hand off. 

Keith doesn’t think the guy’s ever done this before, as clumsy as he is, at least not with another man. He doesn’t seem like he knows how to touch a dick. Keith isn’t even hard. That doesn’t stop the man from trying, though, stroking slow and steady, timing it along with his thrusts. Keith tries to kick out at him again, faltering when the movement tilts his hips and the man’s dick inexplicably hits his prostate.

 _“Oh,”_ he gasps, in surprise more than anything. His dick twitches interestedly. Ignoring that, Keith kicks out again, trying to dislodge the man from his legs, and the fucker gives up trying to jerk him off in lieu of holding him still again, which is fine with Keith.

He fucks in harder than before, whispers something that might be “you little bitch” and digs his nails into his hips hard enough to leave marks. Keith, despite trying not to, thinks of Shiro. He thinks of the way his big hands can curl almost all the way around his waist and the hickeys he likes to leave on his hips and how he would never ever hurt him and about the way he would look at Keith if he saw him like this. What he would think of Keith, swallowing sobs as the fucker grazes his prostate a few more times, the little sparks of pleasure that race through him no matter how hard he tries, the way his half-hard dick rubs against the cool metal with every thrust. Fucking filthy.

“Fucking slut,” the man whispers, ugly voice low, and then he comes, burying himself deep in his ass, moaning low and rubbing his hips in little circles and--nothing comes pouring out of him when the man pulls out. A condom, then. Keith doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not. His heart hammers in his chest.

Warm, rough hands pull Keith’s boxers and pants back up, zip him up and give his ass a few grateful pats. Keith hears the man buckle his belt back up, feels a hand rub the small of his back fondly, and then the warmth is gone, and the man is walking away.

“Wait,” Keith sputters, “You’re just—you can’t—”

But he can, because he just did, and Keith is still fucking stuck. His ribs are sore from being pressed up against the walls for so long. His virginity was just fucked out of him. He’s still half-hard, like a fucking whore. He has a test tomorrow. Keith, suddenly feeling extremely tired and extremely alone, cries into the crook of his elbow.

(The janitor finds him in the morning. He doesn’t ask questions, thank the fucking lord, and doesn’t tell anyone, just helps tug Keith out of the wall and onto his feet. Keith considers going to the nurse or something, reporting what happened, but then he would have to explain why he was out past curfew and why he thought sneaking through the vents was a good idea and the fucker used a condom, anyways, so there’s barely any evidence. Besides, he thinks, trying to ignore the sick feeling of shame and fear pooling in his stomach, he has a test today.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> how did his skinny ass get stuck in a vent? are there even vents big enough to crawl through at the garrison? idk i just write bad porn


End file.
